PATRIOTISM.
Princess Marianne von Eibenberg had just returned from a party which the
British ambassador, Lord Paget, had given in her honor, and which was
to celebrate at the same time the victory which the two emperors,
the allies of England, were firmly believed to have achieved over the
usurper.
Marianne Eibenberg, therefore, wore a brilliant toilet. She was adorned
with diamonds and costly jewelry, and looked as beautiful and proud as a
queen. She had now reached the acme of her career. She was still lovely,
and besides she had become, as it were, the protectress of the most
refined society of Vienna and the centre of the intellectual as well as
aristocratic circles. She had accomplished her purpose. Marianne
Meier, the Jewess, was now a noble lady, to whom everybody was paying
deference; and Marianne, princess von Eibenberg, felt so much at home in
her new position, that she had herself almost forgotten who and what she
had been in former times. Only sometimes she remembered it, only when
such recollections secured a triumph to her, and when she met with
persons who had formerly, at the best, tolerated her with proud disdain
in good society, and who did not deem it now beneath their dignity to
solicit an invitation to her reception-room as a favor.
This reception-room was now the only resort of good society in Vienna,
the only place where people were sure to meet always amidst the troubles
and convulsions of the times with the most refined and patriotic men,
and where they might rely on never finding any persons of doubtful
patriotism, much less any French.
But, it is true, since the imperial family had fled from Vienna, the
reception-room of the Princess von Eibenberg had gradually become
deserted, for the members of the aristocracy had retired to their
estates and castles, and the ministers and high functionaries had
accompanied the emperor and the imperial court to Olmutz.
The ambassadors, too, were about to repair thither; hence, the party
given by the British minister, Lord Paget, to his adored friend the
Princess von Eibenberg, was to celebrate not only the supposed victory,
but also his departure from the capital.
Marianne, as we stated already, had just returned from this party.
With rapid steps, absorbed in profound reflections, she was pacing her
boudoir, muttering, now and then, inaudible words, and from time to time
heaving deep sighs as if feeling violent pain. When she walked past the
large Venetian mirror, she stopped and contemplated the brilliant and
imposing form it reflected.
“It is true,” she said, mournfully, “the Princess von Eibonberg is
a beautiful and charming lady; she has very fine diamonds and a very
aristocratic title; she is living in grand style; she has very many
admirers; she is adored and beloved on account of her enthusiastic
patriotism; she has got whatever is able to beautify and adorn life, and
yet I see a cloud on this forehead which artists compare with that of
the Ludovisian Juno, and diplomatists with that of Pallas Athene. What
does this cloud mean? Reply to this question, you, whom I see there in
the mirror; reply to it, proud woman with the precious diadem, how does
it come that you look so sad, although the world says that you are happy
and highly honored?”
She paused, and looked almost expectantly at her own image in the
looking-glass. The clock commenced all at once striking twelve.
“Midnight!” whispered Marianne; “midnight, the hour in which ghosts
walk! I will also call up a ghost,” she said, after a short pause; “I
will call it up and compel it to reply to me.”
And raising her arm toward the glittering, radiant image in the
looking-glass, she said in a loud and solemn voice: “Marianne Meier,
rise from your grave and come hither to reply to my questions! Marianne
Meier, rise and walk; it is the Princess von Eibenberg who is calling
you! Ah, I see you--it is you, Marianne; you are looking at me with the
melancholy eyes of those days when you had to bear so much contumely and
disgrace, and when you were sitting mournfully by the rivers of Babylon
and weeping. Yes, I recognize you; you still wear the features of your
ancestors of the tribe of Levi; men pretend not to notice them any
longer, but I see them. Marianne Meier, now listen to what I am going to
tell you, and reply to me: tell me what is the matter with the Princess
von Eibenberg? What is the reason she is not happy? Look around in
her house, Marianne Meier; you will behold there such opulence and
magnificence as you never knew in the days of your childhood. Look
at her gilt furniture, her carpets and lustres; look at the beautiful
paintings on the walls, and at the splendid solid plate in her chests.
Look at her velvet and silk dresses, adorned with gold and silver
embroidery; look at her diamonds, her other precious stones and jewelry.
Do you know still, Marianne Meier, how often, in the days of your
childhood and early youth, you have longed, with scalding tears, for
all those things? Do you know still, Marianne Meier, how often you have
wrung your hands and wailed, ‘Would to God I were rich! For he who is
rich is happy!’ The Princess von Eibenberg is rich, Marianne Meier; why,
then, is she not happy? If it had been predicted to you at that time,
when you were only sighing for wealth, Marianne Meier, that you would be
a princess one day, and carry your Jewish head proudly erect in the most
aristocratic society, would you not have believed that this was the
acme of happiness, and that your boldest wishes had been fulfilled? Ah,
Marianne Meier, I have reached this acme, and yet it seems to me that I
am much more remote from happiness than you ever were at that time! You
had then something to struggle for; you had a great aim. But what have
I got? I have reached my aim, and there is nothing for me to accomplish
and to struggle for! That is the secret of my melancholy; I have nothing
to struggle for. I have reached the acme of my prosperity, and every
step I advance is a step down-hill toward the grave, and when the grave
closes over me nothing will remain of me, and my name will be forgotten,
while the name of the hateful usurper will resound through all ages like
a golden harp! Oh, a little glory, a little immortality on earth;
that, Marianne Meier, is what the ambitious heart of the Princess
von Eibenberg is longing for; that is the object for which she would
willingly sacrifice years of her life. Life is now so boundlessly
tedious and empty; it is nothing but a glittering phrase; nothing but a
smiling and gorgeous but dull repetition of the same thing! But, hark!
What is that?” She suddenly interrupted herself. “It seemed to me as if
I heard steps in the small corridor. Yes, I was not mistaken. Somebody
is at the door. Oh, it is he, then; it is Gentz.”
She rushed toward the door, and opening it hastily, she said, “Is it
you, my beloved friend?”
“If you apply this epithet to me, Marianne, yes, it is I,” replied
Gentz, entering the room.
“And to whom else should I apply it, Frederick?” she asked,
reproachfully. “Who but you has got a key to my house and to this door?
Who but you is allowed to enter my house and my room at any hour of the
day or night?”
“Perhaps Lord Paget, my powerful and fine-looking rival,” said Gentz,
carelessly, and without the least shade of bitterness, while he sat down
on the sofa with evident symptoms of weariness and exhaustion.
“Are you jealous of Lord Paget?” she asked, taking a seat by his side,
and placing her hand, sparkling with diamond-rings, on his shoulder.
“Remember, my friend, that it was solely in obedience to your advice
that I did not reject the attentions of the dear lord and entered into
this political liaison.”
“I know, I know,” said Gentz, deprecatingly; “nor have I come to quarrel
with you about such trifles. I have not come as a jealous lover who
wishes to upbraid his beloved with the attentions she has shown to other
men, but as a poor, desponding man who appears before his friend to
pour his lamentations, his despair into her bosom, and to ask her for a
little sympathy with his rage and grief.”
“My friend, what has occurred?” asked Marianne, in dismay.
“Where have you been during the week, since I have not seen you? You
took leave of me in a hurried note, stating that you would set out on an
important journey, although you did not tell me whither you were going.
Where have you been, Frederick?”
“I was in Olmutz with the emperor and with the ministers,” sighed Gentz.
“I hoped to promote there the triumph of the good cause and of Germany;
I hoped to witness a brilliant victory, and now--”
“And now?” asked Marianne, breathlessly, when Gentz paused.
“Now I have witnessed a disgraceful defeat,” groaned Gentz.
Marianne uttered a cry, and her eyes flashed angrily. “He has conquered
again?” she asked, in a husky voice.
“He has conquered, and we have been beaten,” exclaimed Gentz, in a loud
and bitter tone. “The last hope of Germany, nay, of Europe, is gone; the
Russians were defeated with us in a terrible battle. The disaster is an
irretrievable one, all the armies of Prussia being unable to restore
the lost prestige of the coalition! [Footnote: Gentz’s own words.--Vide
Gentz’s “Correspondence with Johannes von Muller,” p. 150.] The Russians
have already retreated, and the Emperor Alexander has set out to-night
in order to return to his dominions.”
“And HE,” muttered Marianne, “HE is celebrating another triumph over
us! He is marching onward proudly and victoriously, while we are lying,
crushed and humiliated, in the dust of degradation. Is it Thy will that
it should be so, God in heaven?” she asked, turning her eyes upward
with an angry glance. “Hast Thou no thunderbolt for this Titan who is
rebelling against the laws of the world? Wilt Thou permit this upstart
to render all countries unhappy, and to enslave all nations?”
“Yes, God permits him to do so,” exclaimed Gentz, laughing scornfully.
“God has destined him to be a scourge to chastise us for our own
impotence. We do not succumb owing to his greatness, but owing to our
weakness. The Austrian cabinet is responsible for our misfortunes! I
have long since perceived the utter lack of ability, the contemptible
character, nay, the infamy of this cabinet; in former times I used to
denounce our Austrian cabinet to the other cabinets of Europe as the
real source of the calamities of our period, and to unveil to them the
whole terrible truth. Oh, if they had heeded MY warnings, when I wrote
last June, and as late as in the beginning of August, to many prominent
men, ‘Beware with whom you enter into a coalition! Do not be deceived
by an illusory semblance of improvement. They are the same as ever! With
them no great undertaking, either in the cabinet or in the field,
will succeed; their rejection is the conditio sine qua non of the
preservation of Europe. It was all in vain! Finally, I was left
alone with my warnings; every one deserted me!” [Footnote: Gentz’s
“Correspondence,” etc., p. 144.]
“I did not desert you, Frederick,” said Marianne, reproachfully, “and I
compelled Lord Paget, too, to support your views. Thanks to our united
efforts, that stupid Count Colloredo, at least, was forced to withdraw
from the cabinet.”
“That is a consolation, but no hope,” said Gentz. “So long as the other
ministers will retain their positions, every thing will be in vain.
Every thing is so diseased and rotten that, unless the whole be thrown
away, there is no reasonable hope left. I hoped the Emperor of Russia
would boldly denounce the incapacity of the cabinet, and by his powerful
influence succeed in cleansing our Augean stable, but he is too gentle
for such an undertaking, and has no man of irresistible power and energy
at his side. He beheld our misery; he greatly deplored it, but refused
to meddle with the domestic affairs of Austria. Thus every thing was
lost, and he was himself disgracefully defeated.”
“And now we have submitted altogether?” asked Marianne. “We have made
peace with the usurper?”
“We have BEGGED him to make peace with us, you mean, and he will dictate
the terms in which we shall have to acquiesce. Oh, Marianne, when I
think of the events of the last few days, I am seized with rage and
grief, and hardly know how I shall be able to live henceforward. Just
listen HOW we have begged for peace! Yesterday, two days after the
battle, the Emperor Francis sent Prince John of Lichtenstein to
Napoleon, who had established his headquarters at Austerlitz, in a
mansion belonging to the Kaunitz family, to express to the conqueror
his wish to have an interview with him at the advanced posts. Napoleon
granted it to him, and the Emperor of Germany went to his conqueror to
beg for peace. He was accompanied by none but Lamberti to the meeting,
which was to take place in the open field. Bonaparte received him,
surrounded by all his generals, chamberlains, and masters of ceremonies,
and with the whole pomp of his imperial dignity.” [Footnote: This
account of the interview of the two emperors may be found verbatim in a
letter from Gentz to Johannes von Muller. Vide “Correspondence,” etc.,
p. 154.]
“Oh, what a terrible disgrace and humiliation!” exclaimed Marianne,
bursting into tears, while she tore the diadem with a wild gesture from
her hair and hurled it to the floor. “Who dares to adorn himself after
events so utterly ignominious have occurred?” she ejaculated--“who dares
to carry his head erect after Germany has been thus trampled under foot!
The Emperor of Germany has begged the invader to make peace; he has
humbly solicited it like a beggar asking alms! And has the conqueror
graciously granted his request? Oh, tell me every thing, Frederick! What
took place at that interview? What did they say to each other?”
“I can tell you but little about it,” said Gentz, shrugging his
shoulders, “for the two emperors conversed without witnesses. Bonaparte
left his suite at the bivouac fire kindled by his soldiers, and Lamberti
also went thither. The two emperors then embraced each other like two
friends who had not met for years.” [Footnote: Historical.]
“And the Emperor Francis had not sufficient strength to strangle the
fiend with his arms?” asked Marianne, trembling with wrath and grief.
“He had neither the strength nor the inclination, I suppose,” said
Gentz, shrugging his shoulders. “When Napoleon released the unfortunate
Emperor Francis from his arms, he pointed with a proud glance toward
heaven and said: ‘Such are the palaces which your majesty has obliged me
to inhabit for these three months.’”
“‘The abode in them,’ replied the Austrian monarch, ‘makes you so
thriving that you have no right to be angry with me for it.’”
“‘I only ask your majesty,’ said Napoleon, hastily, ‘not to renew the
war against France.’”
“‘I pledge you my word as a man and a sovereign that I shall do so no
more,’ replied Francis, loudly and unhesitatingly. The conversation
then was continued in a lower tone, and neither Lamberti nor the French
marshals were able to understand another word.” [Footnote: “Memoires du
Duo de Rovigo,” vol. ii., p. 218.]
“The interview lasted two hours, and then the two emperors parted with
reiterated demonstrations of cordiality. The Emperor Francis returned
silently, and absorbed in his reflections to his headquarters at
Austerlitz. Hitherto he had not uttered a word; but when he saw the
Prince von Lichtenstein, he beckoned him to approach, and said to him in
a low voice, and with suppressed anger, ‘Now that I have seen him, he
is more intolerable to me than ever.’ [Footnote: Hausser’s “History of
Germany,” vol. ii., p. 690.] That was the only utterance he gave to his
rage; as for the rest, he seemed contented with the terms he obtained.”
“And were the terms honorable?” asked Marianne.
“Honorable!” said Gentz, shrugging his shoulders. “Napoleon demanded,
above all, that the Russian army should retire speedily from the
Austrian territories, and the emperor promised this to him. Hence, the
Emperor Alexander has departed; the Russian army is retreating; one part
of it is going to Prussia, while the other is returning to Poland. The
cabinet of Vienna, therefore, is free; that is to say, it is left to its
own peculiar infamy without any bounds whatever, and thus peace will
be made soon enough. Those contemptible men will submit to any thing,
provided he gives up Vienna. Finance-minister Fichy said to me in Olmutz
yesterday, ‘Peace will be cheap, if we have merely to cede the Tyrol,
Venice, and a portion of Upper Austria, and we should be content with
such terms.’ Ah, if THEY could only be got rid of, what a splendid thing
the fall of the monarchy would he! But to lose the provinces, honor,
Germany, Europe, and to KEEP Fichy, Ungart, Cobenzl, Collenbach,
Lamberti, Dietrichstein--no satisfaction, no revenge?-not a single
one of the dogs hung or quartered,--it is impossible to digest THAT!”
[Footnote: Gentz’s own words.--Vide his “Correspondence with Johannes
von Muller,” p. 155.]
“It is true,” said Marianne, musingly, and in a low voice, “this is a
boundless disgrace; and if men will submit to it, and bow their heads,
it is time for women to raise theirs, and to become lionesses in order
to tear the enemy opposing them! And what do you intend doing now, my
friend?” she then asked aloud, forcibly dispelling her painful emotions.
“What are your prospects? What plan of battle will you draw up for us?”
“I have no prospects at all, and I have given up drawing plans of
battle,” said Gentz, sighing. “After exhausting my last strength for
five days during my sojourn in Olmutz, I am done with every thing, and I
have withdrawn weary and satiated ad nauseam. Our ministers have gone
to Presburg, for the purpose of negotiating there with the
plenipotentiaries of Bonaparte about the terms of peace.”
“And where is he at present--where is the proud triumphator?” asked
Marianne, hastily.
“He left Austerlitz to-night, and will reside again at Schonbrunn until
peace has been concluded.”
“Ah, in Schonbrunn!” said Marianne, “that is to say, here in Vienna. And
you, Frederick, will you remain here, too?”
“After making peace, they will banish me, of course, from Vienna; for
Bonaparte knows my hatred against him, and moreover, he knows it to
be implacable. Hence, I prefer going voluntarily into exile, and
shall repair to Breslau, where I shall find plenty of friends and
acquaintances. There I will live, amuse myself, be a man like all of
them, that is to say, gratify nothing but my egotism, and take rest
after so many annoyances and struggles.”
“That cannot be true--that cannot be possible!” exclaimed Marianne,
ardently. “A patriot, a man like you, does not repose and amuse himself,
while his country is plunged into misery and disgrace. I repeat to you
what Arnauld said to his friend Nicole, when the latter, tired of the
struggle for Jansenism, declared to him that he would retire and repose:
‘Vous reposer! Eh! n’avez-vous pas pour vous reposer V’eternite toute
enliere?’ If those men were filled with so undying an enthusiasm for an
insipid quarrel about mere sophistries, how could you take rest, since
eternity itself, whether it be repose or motion, offers nothing more
sublime than a struggle for the liberty and dignity of the world?”
“God bless you for these words, Marianne!” exclaimed Gentz,
enthusiastically, while he embraced his friend passionately, and
imprinted a glowing kiss on her forehead. “Oh, Marianne, I only wished
to try you; I wanted to see whether, with the ardor of your love for me,
the ardor of the holy cause represented by me, had also left you; I only
wanted to know whether, now that you love me no longer--”
“And how can you say that I love you no longer?” she interrupted him.
“Have I deserved so bitter a reproach?”
“It is no reproach, Marianne,” said Gentz, mournfully; “you have paid
your tribute to the vacillating, changeable, and fickle organization
peculiar to every living creature; and so have I, perhaps. We are all
perishable, and hence our feelings must be perishable also. Above all,
love is a most precious, fragrant, and enchanting rose; but its life
lasts but a day, and then it withers. Happy are those, therefore,
who have improved this day and enjoyed the beauty of the rose, and
passionately inhaled its fragrance. We did so, Marianne; and when we now
look back to our day of blissful love, we may say, ‘It was delightful
and intoxicating, and with its memories it will shed a golden, sunny
lustre over our whole life.’ Let us not revile it, therefore, for having
passed away, and let us not be angry with ourselves for not being able
to prolong it. The rose has faded, but the stem, from which it burst
forth, must remain to us; it is our immortal part. That stem is the
harmony of our sentiments; it is the consonance of our ideas; in short,
the seeds of friendship have ripened in the withered flower of our love.
I have not, therefore, come to you, Marianne, to seek for my beloved,
but to find my friend? the friend who understands me, who shares my
views, my grief, my despair, and my rage, and who is ready to aspire
with me to one goal, and to seek with me for it in one way. This goal is
the deliverance of Germany from the chains of slavery.”
“Above all, the annihilation of the tyrant who wants to enslave us!”
exclaimed Marianne, with flashing eyes. “Tell me the way leading to that
goal; I will enter it, even if it should be necessary for me to walk on
thorns and pointed swords!”
“The goal lies before us clearly and distinctly,” said Gentz, sadly;
“but the way leading to it is still obstructed, and so narrow and low
that we are compelled, for the time being, to advance very slowly on
our knees. But we must take spades and work, so that the way may become
wider and higher, and that we may walk on it one day, not with bowed
heads, but drawn up to our full height, our eyes flashing, and sword in
hand. Let us prepare for that day; let us work in the dark shaft, and
other laborers will join us, and, like us, take spades and dig; and in
the dead of night, with curses on our lips and prayers in our hearts, we
will dig on, dig like moles, until we have finally reached our goal, and
burst forth into the sunshine of the day which will restore liberty to
Germany. At the present time, Secret societies may become very useful.
I always hated and despised whatever bore that name; but necessity knows
no law, and now I am obliged to hail them as the harbingers of a blessed
future. [Footnote: Gentz’s own words.--Vide “Correspondence,” etc., p.
163.] Like the first church, the great secret society of Germany ought
to be enthusiastic, self-reliant, and thoroughly organized; its aim
ought to be the destruction of Bonaparte’s tyranny, reconstruction of
the states, restoration of the legitimate sovereigns, introduction of
a better system of government, and, last, everlasting resistance to the
principles which have brought about our indifference, prostration, and
meanness. And now, Marianne, I come to ask you as the worthiest patriot,
as the most intrepid and generous man I know and revere--Marianne, will
you join this, secret society?”
He gave her his hand with a glance full of the most profound emotion;
and she returned his glance with her large, open eyes, warmly grasping
his hand.
“I will, so help me God!” she said, solemnly; “I will join your secret
society, and I will travel around and win over men to our league. I will
seek for catacombs where we may pray, and exhort, and encourage each
other to struggle on with unflagging zeal. I will enlist brethren and
adherents in all circles, in the highest as well as in the lowest; and
the peasant as well as the prince, the countess as well as the citizen’s
wife, shall become brethren and sisters of the holy covenant, the aim
of which is to be the deliverance of Germany from the tyrant’s yoke. My
activity and zeal to promote the good work you have begun shall prove
to you, my friend, whether I love you still, and whether my mind has
comprehended you.”
“I counted on your mind, Marianne, after I ceased building my hopes on
your heart!” exclaimed Gentz, “and I was not mistaken. Your mind has
comprehended me; it is the same as mine. Let us, therefore, go to work
with joyful courage and make our first steps forward. The time when
there was still a hope that the sword might save our cause is past; the
sword lies broken at our feet. Now we have two weapons left, but they
are no less sharp, cutting, and fatal than the sword.”
“These weapons are the tongue and the pen?” said Marianne, smiling.
“Yes, you have understood me,” said Gentz, joyfully, “these are our
weapons. You, my beautiful comrade, will wield one of these weapons,
the tongue, and I shall wield the other, the pen. And I have already
commenced doing so, and written in the sleepless nights of these last
few days a pamphlet which I should like to flit, like a pigeon, over
Germany, so that everywhere it may be seen, understood and appreciated.
The title of this pamphlet is Germany in her Deepest Degredation. It is
an outcry of my grief, by which I intend arousing the German people, so
that they may wake up at last from their long torpor, seize the sword
and rise in the exuberance of their vigor for the purpose of expelling
the tyrant. But, alas! where shall I find one who will dare to print it;
a censor who will not expunge its most powerful passages; and,
finally, book-sellers who will venture to offer so bold a work to their
customers?”
“Give your manuscript to ME!” exclaimed Marianne, enthusiastically; “I
will cause it to be printed, and if there should be no booksellers
to circulate it, I will travel as your agent throughout the whole of
Germany, and in the night-time secretly scatter your pamphlet in the
streets of all the German cities, so that their inhabitants may find
it in the morning--a manna fallen from heaven to nourish and invigorate
them. Give your manuscript to me, Frederick Gentz; let it be the first
solemn act of our secret league!”
“Just see how well I understood you, and how entirely I counted on your
cooperation, Marianne,” said Gentz, drawing a small package from his
side pocket and placing it in her hands. “Here is my manuscript; seek
for a printer and for a bookseller to publish it; give it the blessing
of your protection, and promote its general circulation to the best of
your ability.”
“I shall do so most assuredly,” replied Marianne, placing her hand on
the package, as though she were taking an oath. “In less than a month’s
time the German people shall read this pamphlet. It shall be only the
first comet which the secret league of which we are now members causes
to appear on the dark firmament. Count on me; your manuscript will be
published.”
Gentz bent over her hand and kissed it. He then rose.
“My purpose is accomplished,” he said; “I came to Vienna only to see
you and enlist you as a member of my secret society. My purpose is
accomplished, and I shall set out within an hour.”
“And why are you in such a hurry, my friend? Why depart in so stormy and
wintry a night?” asked Marianne. “Remain with me for another day.”
“It is impossible, Marianne,” said Gentz, deprecatingly. “Friends
like ourselves must have no secrets from each other, and are allowed
fearlessly to tell each other every thing. The Countess of Lankoronska
is waiting for me; I shall set out with her for Breslau.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Marianne, reproachfully, “Lord Paget, too, is going
to leave Vienna, but I do not desert you in order to accompany him; I
remain.”
“You are the sun around which the planets are revolving,” said Gentz,
smiling; “but I am nothing but a planet. I am revolving around my sun.”
“You love the Countess of Lankoronska, then?”
“She is to me the quintessence of all womanly and of many manly
accomplishments!” exclaimed Gentz, enthusiastically.
“And she will also join our secret society?” asked Marianne. “No,” said
Gentz, hastily. “My heart adores her, but my mind will never forget that
she is a Russian. Next to cold death and the French, I hate nothing so
cordially as the Russians.”
“Still you have lived for a month with a Russian lady, of whom you are
enamoured.”
“And precisely in this month my hatred has increased to an astonishing
extent. I despise the Austrians; I am indignant at their weakness, but
still I also pity them; and when I see them, as was the case this time,
trampled under foot by the Russian barbarians, my German bowels turn,
and I feel that the Austrians are my brethren. During the last few
days I have frequently met Constantine, the grand-duke, and the other
distinguished Russians; and the blind, stupid, and impudent national
pride with which they assailed Austria and Germany generally, calling
our country a despicable part of earth, where none but traitors and
cowards were to be found, cut me to the quick. I know very well that we
are at present scarcely allowed to maintain our dignity as Germans; our
government has reduced us to so degrading a position; but when we keep
in mind what the Russians are, compared with US; when we have mournfully
witnessed for two months that they are unable, in spite of the bravery
of their troops, to make any headway against the French, and that they
have injured rather than improved our condition; when we see those
insulting and scorning us who cannot even claim the merit of having
saved us, only then we become fully alive to the consciousness of
our present degradation and abject misery!” [Footnote: Gentz’s own
words--“Correspondence,” pp. 159, 167.]
“God be praised that such are your thoughts!” exclaimed Marianne, “for
now I may hope at least that the Countess of Lankoronska, even though
every thing should fail here, will not succeed in enticing you to
Russia. I am sure, Gentz, you will not accompany her to the cold,
distant north.”
“God forbid!” replied Gentz, shuddering. “If every thing should fail,
I shall settle somewhere in the southern provinces of Austria, in
Carinthia or in the Tyrol, where one may hear the people speak German,
and live there with the plants and stars which I know and love, and with
God, in some warm nook, no matter what tyrant or proconsul may rule over
me. [Footnote: Ibid., p. 167] And now, Marianne, let us part. I do not
promise that our meeting will be a joyful one, for I hardly count on any
more joyful days, but I say that we will meet at the right hour. And the
right hour will be for us only the hour when we shall have reached the
goal of our secret league; when we shall have aroused the German people,
and when they will rise like a courageous giant whom no one is able to
withstand, and who will expel the invader with his hordes from the soil
of Germany! Farewell!”
“Farewell,” said Marianne, feelingly. “My friend will always be welcome,
and cordial greetings will be in store for him whenever he comes.
Remember that, my friend; I say no more ‘my beloved,’ for the Countess
of Lankoronska might be jealous!”
“And she might inform Lord Paget of it,” said Gentz, smiling. He then
kissed Marianne’s hand, and took his hat and overcoat. “Farewell,
Marianne, and do not forget our league and my manuscript.”
“I shall not forget any thing, for I shall not forget you,” she replied,
giving him her hand.
Thus, hand in hand, they walked to the door; then they nodded a last
silent greeting to each other, and Gentz left the room.
Marianne listened to his steps until they had died away. She then drew a
deep breath, and commenced once more slowly pacing the room.
The tapers on the silver chandeliers had burned down very low, and their
liquid wax trickled slowly and lazily on the marble table. Whenever
Marianne passed them, the draught fanned them to a blaze; then they shed
a lurid light on the tall, queenly form in the magnificent dress, and
grew dim again when Marianne stepped back into the darker parts of the
long room.
Suddenly she exclaimed in a joyful voice: “Yes, I have found it at
last! That is the path leading to the goal; that is the path I have
to pursue.” With rapid steps she hastened back to the looking-glass.
“Marianne Meier,” she cried aloud?--“Marianne Meier, listen to what I am
going to tell you. The Princess von Eibenberg has discovered a remedy to
dispel her weariness and dull repose--a remedy that will immortalize
her name. Good-night, Marianne Meier, now you may go to sleep, for the
Princess von Eibenberg will take care of herself!”